


crown lit up the way (as we moved slowly)

by oopshidaisy



Series: king and lionheart [1]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Carol gets cucked unfortunately, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Pre-Quest, Rhodey is a king (literally), Sharing a Bed, Tony is the knight of his Arthurian dreams, she will get a girlfriend in the sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21616300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: Rhodey is a king and Tony is one of the knights sworn to protect him.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Janet Van Dyne
Series: king and lionheart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558051
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59
Collections: RhodeyTony Mini Bang 2019





	crown lit up the way (as we moved slowly)

“I want it recorded for posterity that I believe this meeting to be a terrible idea,” said Sir Anthony Stark, leaning against the stone wall. He was in full armor, sans helmet, and there was a horrid clanking noise every time he fidgeted. Which was a lot.

Rhodey (and he was, in the privacy of his own head, still Rhodey, the nickname attached to him by an insolent brat when they were both young and making nuisances of themselves around the castle) spared a glance for the scribe, who looked unsure as to whether she should follow the instruction of the king’s inferior.

“Then the record shall show it,” Rhodey said. The scribe’s hand blurred into motion, quill swishing hastily through the air. It would be a miracle if anything Virginia wrote was legible, although she was purported to be the foremost scribe in the kingdom. “Any other objections?”

The others—there were twelve of them in the secluded chamber, deep underneath the castle—remained silent. Anthony, momentarily, looked as though he was about to speak up again, never willing to be silent for long. Rhodey quelled him with a glance. They had fallen out of the easy friendship of boyhood a good many years ago; Anthony had been sent to train in Frein, with rumors accompanying him all the while that his intent was to lead a coup and claim the crown for himself. Doubtless, those were the intentions of Howard Stark and Obadiah Stane. Rhodey hardly dared guess Anthony’s motives, but the truth remained that there had been a time when he would have trusted Anthony—no, Tony; he had been Tony back then—with his life a thousand times over.

“In that case, it is time that I told you the purpose for which I gathered you,” Rhodey said. “You have all sworn an oath to protect me, and your country. Both are under threat.”

Everyone had the decency to look shocked, except Anthony.

“I suppose this is about Latveria?” he drawled.

“You’d know better than most,” Rhodey retorted, “given your father’s connections.”

Tony visibly bristled. He must have known, as everyone else present did, that if it were not for the Starks’ status as one of the most powerful houses in the kingdom, he would not be here and his father would be imprisoned. But they were the richest family in the realm, and the number of men and women who were loyal to them prevented any action on Rhodey’s part.

“My sword is yours, as are the swords of my allies. What is it that you require of us?” Sir Caroline asked.

Rhodey looked at his betrothed. Her face was not yet familiar enough to him for him to interpret her expression; she was as unknowable to him now as she had been on the day they were announced to be engaged, almost a year ago. And yet he trusted her in a way he could not bring himself to trust any of the others at his table. It was one thing to pledge yourself to die for your country; it was another, entirely, to do it. Rhodey knew—had seen first-hand—Carol’s unshakeable courage.

“Our spies have intercepted communications between King Victor and Asgard,” Rhodey said. There was no use in concealing the news.

“Fuck,” Anthony said, succinctly.

“Quite,” Rhodey agreed.

“Odin will never agree to von Doom’s terms,” Sir Janet said, but her face was pinched and drawn.

“There is no way of knowing _what_ the Asgardians will do,” Carol said. “Last I heard, they were invading the ice kingdoms. What could they possibly want with Jotunheim?”

“If they set their sights on us…” Rhodey sighed.

“Then there’s no hope,” Tony said. “Sorry, but they’ve got dragons. What do we have that’s a match for that? Swords? Catapults? A well-aimed javelin?”

“It might not come to that,” Janet pointed out. “Asgard’s never been interested in anything west of Latveria or south of Wakanda. My guess is that the dragons either can’t or don’t like flying that far.”

“It’s a nice theory, but—”

“Your pessimism is, as always, appreciated,” Sir Stephen spoke up. “But, Tony, you can’t really think this fight is lost before it begins. Even for _you_ …”

“It’s not pessimism, _Steve_ ,” Tony sneered. “I’m being realistic, and you’re a fool if you don’t acknowledge that we’re functionally defenceless against an army of fire-breathing monsters and people with magical powers.”

“You don’t seriously believe they’re magic, do you? Those are just fairy stories,” Steve said. “My mother used to lull me to sleep talking about the Asgardians’ rainbow bridge and golden palaces. None of it’s real.”

“Sorry, but I missed your holiday to Asgard,” Tony retorted.

“Just because their borders are closed—”

“It’s neither here nor there! The dragons are real, we know that well enough. If we can believe in _them_ , how hard is it to believe that they’ve got a couple of sorcerers in reserve?”

“For the same reason I don’t believe they’ll ride into battle on unicorns,” Sir Samuel put in blandly.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Can we reach out to Wakanda? Nivellern? Genosha?”

“It hasn’t come to that yet,” Rhodey said. “There is a chance that we can prevent a war. If I travel to Asgard myself, before the alliance with Latveria can be concluded…”

“That’s insane,” Tony said. “You know that, right? You’re aware?”

“Be mindful of how you speak to your king,” Carol said. Her blue eyes were flinty, and Anthony drew back somewhat.

“I apologize, your majesty,” he murmured.

Rhodey looked around the table. Those who had not weighed in to the debate—Sirs James, Jessica, Natasha, Clint, and Sharon—were telegraphing concern (with the exception of Natasha, who was typically unreadable). He knew that this was too much to ask of them. He knew that he had to ask it of them all the same.

“Will you join me?” he asked. “If I set out on this quest, can I count on having my most trusted knights by my side, to protect myself and the kingdom from harm?”

“Can’t do much protecting of the kingdom if we’re leaving it,” Anthony pointed out. “But before the honorable Sir Caroline tells me off, I’ll do it.”

Rhodey bit back his expression of surprise. He’d thought that if anyone would decline, it would be Tony, and the split-second decision was almost suspicious, given his previous reservations.

As though he were still capable of reading Rhodey’s mind, Anthony shrugged. “I’ve been told I’ve a death wish.”

“The realm appreciates your loyalty.”

“And you?”

“I appreciate it, too.”

In turn, each of the knights pledged their loyalty and their intent to stick by their king: first was Carol, last was Natasha. This came as no surprise; the Romanoff family had been nobles in Latveria, only defecting after King Victor’s purge of his advisors. One of those advisors had been Natasha’s father. Her mother and sister had fled with her to Ingfloria, whereupon they had been accepted into court on the strength of the intelligence they could provide against their king.

Natasha’s loyalty was never in question—she was merely deliberate and thoughtful in her actions, and Rhodey knew that her priorities lay with her family rather than her adopted country. She was perhaps his most formidable knight, not least in appearance. Her armor was midnight black, embellished with jagged lines, and she forewent a helmet unless it was deemed essential, allowing her cascade of fiery hair to flow free. More than which, Rhodey had seen her in battle and in training, and she was more vicious with a longsword than anyone he had ever known.

Rhodey smiled, trying to project a facade of confidence. “We will leave on the morrow,” he said. “There is no time to waste.”

*

Rhodey tried to keep their departure under wraps, but the nature of court was that nothing could be kept secret for long. There was no amount of money that could prevent the stable boy who saddled their horses from spreading the word, so Rhodey made no attempt to bribe him. He simply instructed the others to make no mention of their intentions until they were safely away from the castle. Rumors would fly, but with any luck the truth would be sufficiently mixed in with nonsense as to be lost.

The coast was a mere day’s ride away from the capital. There were twenty-five people making the journey in totality, what with the squires and companions to the knights, and progress was slower than Rhodey might have hoped. They stopped several times because of complaints from those who were too hot or too hungry.

“And there you had us thinking our home would be besieged by dragons if we didn’t get to Asgard as soon as possible,” Anthony said while he dismounted on the fourth such occasion.

Rhodey grimaced at him. “I have no desire to make my subjects suffer unduly.”

“Because allowing someone to go without a mid-afternoon snack is enough that I should start a coup.”

“Don’t joke about that,” said Janet, in the middle of pinning back her hair. “You could be hanged for treason.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to hang me for treason, James?”

“Would it kill you to show me some respect, _Tony_ ,” Rhodey responded.

“I respect you. My king,” Tony said deferentially. He had always had the advantage of big eyes and dark lashes, and those attributes had allowed him to get away with everything short of murder during their youth. Evidently, he had never grown out of the habit of widening them in faux-innocence. Rhodey told himself, firmly, that he was above such tricks.

“Tony,” Janet said, a warning clear in her voice. Rhodey remembered that there had been rumors about a marriage between the two—arranged by Howard of course—back when Anthony had returned from Frein. That had been more than a decade ago, however, and no wedding had materialized. It wasn’t worth speculating over, even as Tony and Janet seemed to have an entire conversation with naught but their eyes and a few movements of their hands. “I apologize on his behalf, my lord,” Janet said after what even Rhodey could interpret as an insolent eyebrow raise from Tony.

“It is of no matter,” Rhodey said. “I ask only Sir Anthony’s loyalty—I have no desire for him to lick my boots.”

Tony grinned. “Oh? But they’re such nice boots.”

There was something his tone that sent a sensation not unlike pins and needles dashing up Rhodey’s limbs. He shook his head and squared his shoulders, turning away from Tony to tell everyone to get back on their horses, lest they not make it to the port by sundown.

*

They did not make it to the port by sundown. It was no one’s fault, although a contingent of less experienced riders had slowed them considerably. Rhodey was loath to admit that Anthony could have been right, that he should have pushed his subjects to go faster and rest less frequently, so he simply asked Sharon (they were passing through the land overseen by her family) where they might find lodging for the night.

Sharon was the youngest of Rhodey’s personal guard, and the youngest in her family. She was not yet as vocal as the others, nor as inclined to treat her king as an equal. She inclined her head before she answered his question.

“There is a lodging house but a few miles from here,” she told him, “although I doubt it will meet the standard your majesty requires.”

“I require no standard beyond somewhere to lay my head,” Rhodey assured her. “Lead the way.”

They were dressed inconspicuously, no armor to be seen, but Rhodey reminded them all of the need to be discreet all the same. He was more worried about Sharon being recognized than himself. She drew up the hood of her white cloak and assured him that she had not been seen in these parts since she was a child, and he hoped that would be enough to deflect suspicion.

As soon as they were within sight of the building, Rhodey knew that the more present danger was that of being robbed.

“Take off your cape,” he told Tony, whose most casual clothing tended towards red and velvet.

“Why?”

“You should know better than to flaunt your wealth with such abandon.”

Tony fixed him with an odd look, but obediently began to unfasten the gold clasp at his collar. “What other use is there for it?” he murmured, almost to himself. Rhodey ignored him.

*

There was not enough room at the inn.

Rhodey should have expected as much. This part of the country was not densely populated, and the only regular business a lodging house such as this could hope to attain was that of travelers heading for the least popular port in the kingdom. There were, in all, ten rooms available for the night.

“It’s the best I can do ya,” the tall, bearded man told him. “And I should tell ya right now, since yer traveling with mixed folk, that there’ll be no sharing of unmarried mens and womens. For propriety, you understand.”

“I do,” Rhodey said.

“But men can share with men and women with women?” Tony cut in. Rhodey glared. “For propriety’s sake?”

“That’s what I said,” the innkeeper replied gruffly. “If ya don’t like it you can bloody well sleep outside, young man.”

“No, no,” Tony smirked, “no problems here. The ladies can live without me for one night.”

Rhodey watched as Janet stepped on his foot and Tony blew her an answering kiss. It would have been much easier if those two could have been put in a room together; Tony had an unerring tendency to endear himself to women and irritate men, with few exceptions. There was little chance of getting Stephen, James Buchanan, Samuel or Clint to agree to share with him.

“If you would be so kind as to give us a moment to confer amongst ourselves about the sleeping arrangements,” Rhodey addressed the owner.

“Right enough,” he shrugged.

Rhodey led the group of them out into the rapidly cooling night air, hating how juvenile this whole situation felt—and hating that he had to take charge, dictating where everyone would sleep. But there was nothing else for it.

First and foremost: “Sir Anthony, you’ll be with me.”

“Will I now?”

“Unless you would rather surrender to the elements.”

“When you put it that way,” Tony said. “It would be my honor.”

Carol spoke up. “There are too many of us for doubling to be sufficient. I can share with Sirs Jessica and Janet, if that pleases my king.” She never phrased such things as a question, and Rhodey rarely—if ever—contradicted her.

“It does,” he responded.

They managed to come to a satisfactory arrangement quickly enough. By that time, what little had remained of the day’s warmth had seeped away, and the full moon hung large above them, brighter than it ever seemed in the smog of the capital. As everyone else wearily headed into the building, Rhodey held Tony back.

“I seem to remember that you once had a mind for the constellations,” he said.

“A remarkably useless field of study,” Tony responded, sparing only a glance for the sky.

Rhodey hummed. “And yet I believe that you found poetry in it. A long time ago, perhaps.”

“It honors me that you would even recall such a triviality from our youths,” Tony said mechanically.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“I—” Rhodey, momentarily, struggled for words. “I prefer it when you are wholly yourself. Deference feels false, from you.”

“And yet it is required,” Tony quipped, “if I am to keep my head.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Tony batted his eyes, and his mouth twisted into the more familiar smirk. “If it pleases my king.”

Rhodey snorted. “Let’s just find our room, shall we?”

*

The bed was bearably sized, although the blanket left a lot to be desired. The room had been equipped with a bowl of water and a single wooden chair, with reeds scattered across the floor. On the windowsill, two candles flickered wanly, casting dull light over half the space at best.

“What a shithole,” Tony commented, immediately casting his jacket aside. His shirt, loose-fitted, might well have been made of silk. Rhodey wondered if he had ever had to content himself with anything less than the best before.

“I daresay you are accustomed to more luxury,” Rhodey said, beginning to unlace his own shoes. It was the sort of thing that was supposed to be carried out by a servant, but Rhodey detested the implication that he was unable to take off his own clothes. He was surprised that Tony seemed similarly inclined.

“It’s always a pleasure to be accused of being born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth by one’s king.”

“I take your point,” Rhodey said.

“And don’t think I don’t realize that you’re only in this room with me right now because you think any of your other men would murder me in my sleep.”

Rhodey shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t…only that.”

“But it was part of your consideration.”

“Well,” Rhodey said, “it would be such a shame to have to imprison Sir Stephen for murder.”

“That’s all? You wouldn’t execute Steve? That’s a capital offense, you know.” Tony was smiling, a halfway sort of thing, with the corners of his mouth only just crooked up. Rhodey opened his mouth to respond and Tony just waved a hand at him. “Oh, be quiet, I know you hate executions.”

“I never told you that.”

“Yes, but you never show up for them, and whenever an alternative sentencing is publicly acceptable you put pressure on the court’s ruling. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out,” Tony said, sitting down on the right edge of the bed. “And I am one, anyway.”

“Really? You’ve never mentioned it before.” Rhodey found himself grinning, and forced his expression into something more neutral. It didn’t matter anyway; Tony wasn’t looking at him.

“You could stand to be a little nicer to the man who designs your armor and weapons,” Tony murmured. “Or the one who’s about to share your bed.”

“Hm.” Rhodey inclined his head. “I trust both.”

*

“It’s a shame that lighting a fire would be liable to burn the entire place down,” Tony commented, digging around in his saddle-bag. He retrieved the cloak that Rhodey had told him to hide and wrapped it around himself. He was visibly shivering, and Rhodey felt a pang of—something. It wasn’t corrosive enough to be pity, but there were traces of a protectiveness that was both unwarranted and inconvenient.

It was true that the room boasted a fireplace, and equally true that its blackened exterior relegated it to an option of last resort.

“Surely that fur will serve you well enough for one night,” Rhodey retorted, sitting at the edge of the bed. He ran a hand over the pillow, which was dismally flat and hard.

“I was not thinking of myself,” Tony said. “For once, I grant you.”

“Spare me the self-deprecation and come to bed,” Rhodey sighed, lying down. Tony looked on the verge of saying something else, but at length he snuffed out the candles and silently took his place next to Rhodey.

He turned onto his side, facing away, and Rhodey was struck by the resurgence of a memory that had long since seemed to fade.

“We used to do this when we were children,” he murmured.

Tony’s voice was muffled. “You’re in the mood for reminiscence, tonight.”

“We’ve been so rarely alone together these past years,” Rhodey replied. “It was easy to forget.”

“For you, perhaps.”

Rhodey didn’t know what to say to that, so he allowed silence to envelop them until he drifted into unconsciousness.

*

He should have known that Tony would take up as much space in sleep as he did when awake. There was something inherent to Tony’s psyche that hated being ignored—or, at least, that was as good an explanation as any for why Rhodey awoke during to the first moments of sunrise with the unfamiliar feeling of a body pressed against his own.

It was such a surprise that he was helpless but to revel in the closeness. He was not permitted to share a bed with his fiancée until they were married, and any extra-marital dalliance would never have stayed a secret for long—the warmth of Tony, the steady pressure of his breathing, it was all strangely welcome.

And—Tony was beautiful. Rhodey had always known this, of course: Tony was insufferable about the fact of his own attractiveness and had been since youth, but there was a chasm of difference between his self-conscious posturing and the way the rising sun set his golden skin alight and turned the sweep of his eyelashes into a deep black streak. Even the crisp lines of his beard seemed softer, somehow.

It felt strangely invasive, to look at him like this, conscious of his loveliness. Although it was unlikely that Tony would ever reject such attention, Rhodey’s stomach felt unsettled—with guilt, he assumed. Tony made a sleepy, snuffling noise and his face nuzzled into the juncture between Rhodey’s neck and shoulder. Rhodey found himself holding his breath.

There was only so long he could remain entirely stationary, however, and he ran a cautious hand along Tony’s spine, trying to nudge him gently into consciousness. Tony’s response was another low sound that sent sparks racing around Rhodey’s gut. He increased the pressure of his fingers, and felt Tony’s eyelids flutter open against his throat.

“Time s’it?” were Tony’s first, slurred words. He seemed utterly unconcerned about his position—and, in fact, Rhodey felt sure that Tony was deliberately slotting their feet together.

“Early,” Rhodey said. His voice was hoarse. “You’re a clingy sleeper.” There was no reproach in the statement, although he had meant for there to be.

“Sorry,” Tony murmured, not sounding particularly sincere, “it’s one of my many flaws.”

“Oh? I’d never heard you admit to having those before.”

“You never slept with me before.” It would be easier to keep up with the witty repartee if Tony wasn’t pressing his words into the sensitive skin of Rhodey’s neck. He should put some distance between them. He should take his hand off Tony’s waist, at the very least.

After a few beats of silence, Tony spoke up again. “A man could get the wrong idea.”

“God forbid.”

“James…”

“You never called me that.”

“It never suited you.” He felt Tony smile. “Too regal.”

“I loved that,” Rhodey admitted. It helped that he couldn’t see Tony’s eyes. “Having a special name, just between us.”

“You always told me off when I called you Rhodey.”

Rhodey made half a movement towards a shrug. “I liked telling you off.”

“You can’t—” Tony’s voice was unusually soft, syllables tripping into one another. “I wish you wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t what?”

It occurred to him that, as bold as Tony’s position against him was, it was also an effective way to stay hidden.

“I would have done anything for you,” Tony said. “Not only in the ways a knight is supposed to serve his king.” Rhodey shut his eyes. The words were unbearable; they were a soothing balm. “If not for my father…”

“He wanted you to depose me?”

Tony’s laugh was small and bitter. “His ambitions were not so grand. He merely wanted me to stop loving you. That’s why I was sent away.”

Rhodey’s hand tightened on Tony’s waist. “You never told me.”

“What could I have said?”

“I don’t—” Rhodey forced some distance between them so he could look Tony in the eyes. They were molten brown, glinting gold in the morning light; it didn’t help the situation any. “Why are you telling me now? Do you love me no longer?”

“I will always love my king.” Tony’s crimson shirt was unlaced at the base of his throat, and Rhodey felt he could almost see the pulse rabbiting there.

“Is it a love befitting of one’s king?”

“You would have me admit to deviant desires?”

“There is no law against such things,” Rhodey pointed out. “Besides, you have hardly kept it a secret. Your…exploits are heard of, around the castle.”

“Then you would have me proposition a man who is to be married?”

For the first time since he had woken up, Rhodey thought of Carol. Strong, wonderful Carol, who challenged him and fought for him and had pledged her life to him. Who had never said she loved him—not in a way that went beyond the relationship between a king and one of his subjects. Until now, he had never felt like anything was missing from their relationship. The lack of passion had never bothered him; he had considered it proper for a king to be more focused on his country than his wife.

The way Tony was looking at him, though.

“I wish you would have told me sooner,” he said, reaching out. It was intoxicating, to see the dark press of his fingers against Tony’s jaw, his throat. Tony hummed under the attention, eyes going even warmer, half-lidded with leftover tiredness. “You’re beautiful.”

“Please,” Tony said, quiet. Whether he knew what he was asking for, Rhodey could only guess.

He leaned over, replacing his fingers with his lips. The roughness of Tony’s stubble was an unfamiliar sensation, and Rhodey found himself dragging his mouth across the texture, reveling in the hitch of Tony’s breath. He said _please_ again, more of an exhalation than a fully formed word.

Rhodey knew it was desperately impulsive—reckless, the kind of thing that could topple a kingdom—but he kissed the dip of Tony’s throat, the ridge of his collarbone. Almost as an afterthought, he captured Tony’s mouth with his own.

*

Tony wouldn’t stop smirking. It was a hopeless cause; his hair was a mess, there was a bite mark high on his throat, and Rhodey had to keep reminding him to keep the self-satisfied smile off his face.

“For now, this must be a secret,” he said, for at least the seventeenth time, as Tony was lacing up his boots.

“I would never tell anyone,” Tony said, affecting being wounded. “Except Jan, maybe. Can I tell Janet?”

Rhodey tried to look authoritative and probably succeeded in looking besotted. “I could have you thrown in a dungeon for disobeying an order from your king.”

“I never dared dream that your fantasies were so colorful.” Tony went to his knees and began work on Rhodey’s shoes, in a move that was both unnecessary and calculatedly arousing. As soon as he had escaped from the clutches of fatigue, he had returned to his insufferable, magnetic self. Rhodey was having trouble keeping his hands off him, but they had already wasted too much daylight and he was sure that the rest of their party would be ready and impatient to leave.

“I only ask that you keep up the pretense until I have my chance to tell Carol,” Rhodey said. “Even though we were never—it was to be a marriage of mutual beneficence for both families—she deserves to know.”

“Of course.” Tony pressed a kiss to Rhodey’s knee before he stood up. “I merely think you’ve been too quick to dismiss the likelihood that Sir Carol will run me through with that intimidating sword of hers.”

“You also have a sword,” Rhodey pointed out.

“Are you suggesting we duel for your hand?” Tony looked oddly delighted by the thought, although he must have known that he would be bested by Carol in a fight. Tony may have been a genius, but Carol was a fighter through and through.

“I value your life too highly to allow such a thing,” Rhodey hedged.

Tony laughed, brighter than Rhodey had heard since they were children. Pessimism was impossible in the face of such a lovely sound, Rhodey thought.

*

As he had suspected, they were the last to congregate outside the inn. No one betrayed so much as a hint of impatience, but Sam implied that they had been waiting for just under an hour. The horses were restless.

“It was my fault,” Tony announced, swinging up onto his horse, which was tied next to Janet’s. “If I am allowed, I sleep until long after the sun has risen. King James was simply too generous with me.”

Rhodey’s skin felt inflamed, but he managed to keep his expression neutral.

“What Sir Anthony means to say is that it takes him an hour to do his hair. Regardless,” Rhodey said, “we shall reach the coast well before dark if we ride as well as we did yesterday.”

He could feel Carol’s eyes on him; he couldn’t meet her gaze. There was a tremor of guilt shooting through his body, almost-but-not-quite eclipsed by the elation that accompanied the memory of Tony’s hands on him. He took a deep, steadying breath.

“Before we leave, Sir Carol, I require a moment of your time.”

*

By the time they were on the ship – the HMS Avenger – his only worries regarded the quest ahead. Carol had listened to his confession in stoic silence, her eyes severe and flinty. She had accepted his apologies with the bare minimum of forgiveness, and Rhodey hadn’t been able to blame her. They hadn’t spoken since.

“I wish I could find a way to make it up to her,” Rhodey said, leaning against the bough of the ship.

“Give her time,” Tony suggested from his feet. He hated sea-travel, and had turned an almost comical shade of grey as soon as they set foot on the vessel. Right now, he was hunched over his own knees, hands clenched into fists. Rhodey had asked if he wanted to go inside, but Tony had insisted that would only make it worse. He hadn’t actually thrown up yet, but the waters off the coast of Ingfloria were usually sedate—the closer they got to the continent, the worse it was sure to be.

They weren’t quite alone: at least ten other people were milling around the deck, but no one was close enough to notice when Rhodey threaded his fingers through Tony’s hair, gently pushing it back from his pallid face.

“Why didn’t you mention that you get seasick before?” he asked.

“It’s not very becoming of a knight,” Tony said. “Besides, you had this big, grand quest planned—with dragons. I hardly wanted to mention that I am undone by water with the placidity of a lake.”

“I’d like to see you take on a dragon in this state,” Rhodey mused.

“That’s because you are a cruel king—a regular tyrant.”

“But you love me,” Rhodey smiled. He looked over his shoulder, and the small waves were a sparkling, bright blue.

“I see that you shall never tire of hearing it,” Tony sighed. “But yes, if you insist on my saying it every five minutes. I love you.”

Rhodey scratched lightly at Tony’s scalp. “And I, you.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'king and lionheart' by of monsters and men
> 
> and here's the fantastic art by @YackyArts  
> 
> 
> i'm on tumblr @[morgans-starks](https://morgans-starks.tumblr.com/) and twitter [here](https://twitter.com/oopshidaisy)
> 
> thank you for reading! x


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